First Gentleman with Wilson Orhiunu
Email: babawill2000@gmail.com Twitter: @Babawilly
Considering my Urhobo cultural heritage, the above question does not deserve an answer, in some quarters at least. ‘Bifor nko? No bi yua pidgin?’ they might ask.
Since all Urhobo people are Nigerians; case closed? Perhaps. Is my son not a descendant of Urhobo people who all hail from a particular land mass, speak one language and share certain customs and traditions? He should be tightly knitted to his Urhobo and thus his Nigerian identity even if he lives in the UK, has a Yoruba mother and is only four months old.
I must add that even his mother commented that, “this child is oyinbo o”.
Now I will take you back to where all this started. Few days ago, I walked in to find our baby in the arms of his mother. Now, asking me “what happened today?” always opens the flood gates.
As I gave my usually embellished account of my day full of the usual drama and exaggerations, my son burst into tears. I am all for children’s rights and all but when I tell tall tales, I usually do not count the baby as my audience. As far as I am concerned I am talking to my wife and even though she happens to be carrying him, he does not count. Well that was a mistake. He was actually part of the audience without me knowing.
We looked at each other quizzically till the kobo coin finally dropped. He was not crying because of the content of my words but because of the volume at which I spoke. We had to comfort him, tease him and then continue.
That was when my wife uttered the now classic, “this boy is oyinbo o’”
I am sure my people know where I am going with this (although the route is still a mystery).
The truth be told, if a baby does not like parents or relatives who talk loudly and they end up being born into a Nigerian home, “something gat to give” for the Nigerian way is the loud way.
We walk, talk and dress loudly. Dats all!
I sincerely don’t intend to raise my voice but in the throes of delivering a story I find myself scaling the decibels the way my father did before me. I was brought up in a society that raised their voice for emphasis. Charity begins at home. If asked to bring the green slippers and you brought the red one, as a child you wouldn’t be told about your error quietly. The integrity of your hearing or thinking might be called into question on a good day, while on a bad day the wrong slippers might rub your butt the wrong way.
Sometimes Nepa might ‘take light’ between the time you receive the errand and when you deliver. As soon as light comes and the wrong slippers are noticed you hear your name shouted. My name was always shouted as a child; at home, in school and in church.
There must have been a military decree stipulating that no parent stands up and walks to where their kids are. Rather they shout. The same thing happened in school. The roll call was done very loudly. The drive to school was also noisy. The bus conductor shouted to ask for his money, and the driver made full use of his horn as did other road users. Noisy engines slapped acoustic high fives with loud music from a thousand loud speaker placed along the road. The word ‘noise pollution’ had not been discovered so one just grew into the noise.
I remember once being asked to go out and buy newspapers at home as a child and all I did was stay indoors till I heard the hooting noise that the vendors made with their horns in the streets, (a bit similar to the ice cream van’s music in the UK), and I ran out to buy the newspapers. This noise gave the neighbourhood some character no doubt but sometimes the character got too much with the orange seller, bread hawker and hot beans seller all singing melodious songs to draw in the crowds.
I once asked a friend why Nigerians make loud telephone calls and I was told that there were three reasons.
- People shout to overcome the background noise such as noisy car engines from old cars and the ubiquitous drones of a thousand electrical generators. Drowning out the noise with more noise.
- Bad network or signals. A breaking signal frustrates the caller and he sounds louder in frustration.
- Habit. Some people might be sitting next to you in quiet conversation till their phone goes off. Next thing they are roaring like lions.
The only time you get Nigerians making quiet phone calls are when
- Love is on the agenda meaning a man is wooing a lady or
- A loan is being negotiated.
What more proof do you need that Nigerians talk too loud all the time? When a British man comes across something for which he is lost for words about he exclaims, “I am speechless”. On the other hand a Nigerian stumbling upon an unpalatable incident exclaims (as he claps his hands horizontally, alternating the bottom hand with each successive clap), “I no fit shout o!”
I can say with pride that my son has made giant strides in his -de sensitization to loud noise- agenda. I have spoken and complained about Nigeria’s economic state at the top of my voice over the phone in his presence a few times and he cries not but takes solace in sucking his fingers.
The obligatory loud ‘Amen!’ at church no more elicits his startle reflex. Last week I caught him bracing himself when he heard the words, “and let the church say a loud Amen”. My son is a true Nigerian after all.
